My Grandmother’s lap was as big as the world when I was an infant, and the centre of the universe. The memory is a darkened room as both I and my brother had measles, so the light was simply from the Christmas tree, a false memory perhaps. In a later memory she was an Amazon, a giant mountain to be scaled.
When the local bus quit their daily run down our bit of highway I got a driver’s licence so that we could continue to visit, she was in her 80’s by then.
Loss is one of the things we never get used to.
The floor here has changed. It is way far away. All of a sudden, no longer having dogs, the middle ground has gone missing. I miss-step all the time. The frame of reference vanished.
The idea that we get over loss, that there is a process to closure, to use the current word, is for me untrue.
You don’t get over, find closure or recuperate from the loss of those you love. Simply, you move on and try to take those memories with you.